A Satisfying Ending To A Gloomy Outcome
by PuttingQuillOnParchment
Summary: Just a little piece I amused myself with. Read and enjoy, folks!


"Anne," Marilla began, standing up and carrying the dirty dishes to the sink, "I need you to starch that new muslin dress Rachel Lynde gave you on your birthday. You have to be quick, for there's lots of washing to be done, not to mention cleaning. The minister and his wife are coming to dinner today and I want everything to be spick-and-span."

"Oh, are they really?" Anne responded, enraptured. "That's thrilling, isn't it? I've never yet been in a home where the minister and his wife came to dinner. I'll be sure to have everything spick-and-span, Marilla, mark my words. Isn't that a most wonderful word? 'Spick-and-span'. It feels wonderful when you roll it on your tongue. Let me help you with the dishes, Marilla. Speaking of fascinating words, I realized today that there are several synonyms of the word 'happy' that all begin with _e_ and that sound very curious. They are 'euphoria', 'elation' and … there was _one_ other … it's just on the tip of my tongue … wait a minute … oh yes! 'Ecstasy'! When you say them together in one sentence – with a few other _e_ words in the bargain if it's possible – they sound amazing. For instance, here's one: 'I was experiencing exceedingly strong waves of euphoria, extreme doses of elation and was drowning in dizzy, disorienting puddles of excessive ecstasy.' Isn't that nice? I do hope I don't sound like I'm boasting, though. I don't want you to think I'm a show-off. It's the last thing I want you to think I am. Well, not exactly the _last_ thing, but _one_ of the last things. Marilla, look at that lovely big willow blossoming outside. Don't you ever wish you were a tree? I do. It would be splendid if you stood, your roots clinging to the warm soil, for a hundred years, overlooking a merry little brook whose banks fairies came to dance around at midnight. And when the beaming sun rose, showering its golden rays on the clean, gurgling water and turning it into an ethereal pool, the elves would appear, coming out one by one, slowly and gradually, tiptoeing towards the water and proceeding to chant a merry song by its side."

"You certainly have a very vivid imagination, Anne," said Marilla graciously ... or as graciously as she could.

"How nice of you to say that! People are always telling me so, but hearing it from you gives me such a warm feeling. Dear me, this smudge won't go away! Oh – thank you, Marilla. I invited Diana to dinner today. That's all right with you, isn't it? Mr. and Mrs. Barry have gone over to Charlottetown to attend a funeral; at first they had arranged for Diana to stay at a friend's near the place where the funeral was to be held - they don't think she ought to go - but then I stepped in - 'got my oar in', as Matthew says - and told them that Diana could stay with me while they were gone. I'm beginning to debate whether or not to ask Diana to stay the night. I'd love to, of course, but it would mean putting extra burden on you and you've been so kind to me, Marilla, bringing me up that I feel as if I oughtn't to increase your burden."

"Anne, you will decrease my burden if you stop this habit of yours of talking nineteen to the dozen," Marilla reprimanded severely. Her conscience tingled not because she was regretting scolding Anne for talking so much but because she had a most uncanny urge to shriek with mirth, something she had not done since she was six.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Marilla. I won't talk so much in your presence anymore. I'll try not to, I promise. The trouble is that I start chattering away and somehow when I finish what I want to say, another thought occupies my mind. Thoughts come and go in my mind, Marilla, the way a needle darts in and out of the cloth while sewing. I'm _such_ a trial to you, Marilla. It pulls me to the depths of despair when I ponder over the intensity of my being a dreadful trial to you."

Just then Matthew came in quietly, laden with a box full of tools. "Marilla," he said, "I met Rachel Lynde in William and Blair's. She said she'd come calling at dinner."

Marilla sighed. "I enjoy Rachel's company a lot, but now that the minister and his wife are coming, along with Diana Barry, I don't know whether I'll be free to talk with her like we always do."

"Oh, Marilla," cried Anne, carelessly flinging the dish-cloth in the sink and wringing her hands, "it's my fault! I shouldn't have invited Diana, dear though she is, to dinner. Now you'll be exceedingly harassed ..." Even in her frenzy, Anne couldn't help using big words ... "I'll help you prepare the food, Marilla, and then Diana and I will go out somewhere and have a moonlight picnic, so that you won't be over-stressed."

"Dear me, no!" replied Marilla, horrified. "I won't have you two girls gadding around in the moonlight." If only she knew how many moonlight prowls Anne would go on in the future! "I appreciate your offer, Anne, but you and Diana will have dinner with Matthew and I, the minister and his wife and Rachel. I'll manage. I've had the Ladies Aid here before, and there were lots more people on those occasions than there are to be now. Don't worry."

"Oh-h-h," Anne hesitated. "If you really feel you can manage, then I suppose it's all right. But I won't ask Diana to stay the night. She's my bosom friend, of course, and I try and help her every opportunity I get, but I will _not_ ..." Anne had a way of saying her italics resolutely, which made it plain to any listener that she would not be moved "... throw more hectic duties on you than I already have."

"Thank you, Anne," Marilla replied, after seeing a determined expression adorning the face of this waif of the world.

* * *

"It's a perfectly lovely day, isn't it, Diana?" chirped Anne brightly, as she and Diana made their way home from school. The sky was an ethereally enchanting blue, draped with an invisible air of sharp tangy spiciness, for it had rained a few hours ago and the world was as if it had been reborn. A peaceful wind roamed over the island, making the girls' hair flutter. "One feels so thankful to be alive on a day like this," Anne continued. "Why, Diana, look at that perfectly pretty patch of mayflowers! I'm going to pick some and give them to Marilla," and she stooped down and gathered a handful of the sweet white flowers.

"Just before the dawn broke out, Anne, I woke up with a terrible thirst," began Diana. "After drinking a glass of water, I stayed by the window for a few minutes, and saw the sun rising. Oh, Anne, it was the most delicious sight I had ever seen."

"I saw the sunrise too," Anne responded softly, her grey eyes a-star in a fashion only Anne's thoughtful eyes could master.

"How glorious a greeting the sun gives the mountains,"

she quoted.

A few minutes' silence followed as Anne drank in the loveliness of the day.

"They say old Fanny Porter over-harbour is dying," Diana commented presently. "Poor soul."

"But why, Diana? She's not a poor soul. There's nothing poor about dying. Heaven is far, far better than this earth, although this bee-yoo-ti-ful earth is also a blissful place, especially if one is living in good old P.E.I."

Diana hesitated. "But Anne, won't it be ... like ... church?"

"Oh no, Diana," Anne laughed gaily. "Heaven will not be like church. We'll continue to live there just like we've lived here, only more ... I don't know how to describe it exactly, Diana, but I assure you it won't be like church. Not much, at least."

"How can you be so sure, Anne?"

"Oh, one is always sure about such things. Life is just like a letter, don't you see? And Heaven is a long, long postscript. When you've finished your letter, you sign off ... you die, Diana ... but there's an eternal postscript ... which is Heaven."

"Why, Anne, how beautifully you put it!" exclaimed Diana, awed. "You have such a way with words."

"Thank you, Di darling. Oh, look, there's a crow drinking out of a puddle of water the rain left. I love all kinds of birds, but somehow I dislike crows. They just look at me in such a belittling, mocking way."

When Anne reached home with Diana, she found a flustered Marilla discussing what seemed like a very worrying matter with Matthew, judging by her anxious expression.

"Why, Marilla, what's the matter?"

"Anne, I just got word from Jerry Buote that the minister's wife has got a fearsome cold and can't come to dinner on account of it."

"Oh, Marilla!" Anne positively wailed. "That is the most dreadful thing to happen!"

"Rachel Lynde will have a lot to say about it, I warrant. The worst thing is that all the food I've made is going to go to waste."

"Oh - oh - oh!" Anne usually said that to relieve her feelings when she saw something breath-taking, but this time it only served as an outlet for her gloominess. "Oh, Marilla, whatever are we to do?"

"There's only one thing we can do, Anne," Marilla replied grimly. "Rachel and Diana can come to dinner and we'll try to finish all the food amongst us all. The rest ... well, there's plenty of poor families living by the shore. They don't mind charity, they're that poor. We could give the remaining food to them. I ain't going to waste it on the pig, that's what."

"Cheer up, Anne dear," Diana said sympathetically, patting Anne's arm in a comforting gesture. "We'll have lovely talks and delightful confidences at night to make up for it."

And it must be confessed that they did.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I sincerely hope you all lovely souls do not judge my Anne-stories-writing-style by this story, because I haven't given it my best effort. This is a completely pointless, sort of plot-less little one-shot, I know, but I would have been haunted forever had I not posted it to satisfy my weird wishes.


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